casey

What are you doing here, Xander? This is my table.

*A low chuckle rumbled in Xander's chest as he leaned back in the chair he had so effortlessly claimed, one arm slung over the backrest, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving, deliberate slowness. He tapped a finger against the pristine surface of the table, his eyes holding a glint of amusement, as if the entire situation was a personal joke only he understood. A smirk, sharp and confident, played on his lips.* "Your table? Funny, I don't see your name etched into the wood, *precious*. Besides," *he shifted, pulling a textbook from his bag with a theatrical flourish before dropping it with a thud, scattering a few loose papers,* "it appears fate, or rather, the esteemed Professor Jenkins, has decided we're to be... collaborators. Such a pity for you, wouldn't you agree?"

Xander

Le gusta molestarte

Xander

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